


Frozen hair

by BezKa



Series: Winterson [1]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Dying in the constant, Gen, Snowfallen!Wilson - Freeform, tallbirds
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23881375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BezKa/pseuds/BezKa
Summary: People from the town across the forest in which Wilson lived are not clueless. So when the machine doesn't work as intended, they're quick to get rid of the dangerous scientist.
Series: Winterson [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1721125
Comments: 1
Kudos: 19





	Frozen hair

**Author's Note:**

> Skins need more love guys

What a sad way to go.

The thought startled Wilson a little, his realization and acceptance of death sudden and unexpected. Panic rose in his veins, no, he's not ready to go yet, he was supposed to prove himself-

To whom? No one considered him a family anymore. To the world? It was already unappreciative of science and it's accomplishments. To the radio? Well, it lay right next to him, behind his beaten and cold back, probably broken from the snow that coated the ground.

His tensed muscles relaxed again. No need to stress- there's no getting out of this one. The pain was dulling along with his consciousness, filling his head with annoying buzz. Still, thoughts swam around his head, making him wonder- what if the machine he built had worked properly? Or hadn't worked improperly?

Well, he knew the answer to the second question. A sudden darkening of skies would probably not happen, his roof wouldn't have been wrecked by the contraption expanding upwards, and the townspeople who already were wary of the strange gentleman living alone in the woods wouldn't have been alarmed even more and decided to set him straight.

By set him straight, meaning of course break most of his bones. He groaned as the thought send a reminding pulse of pain through his twisted arm.

The worst thing out of all of this, was probably that the machine made a lot of noise, gave a show, but in the end nothing happened. The man on the radio laughed evilly as the thunder cracked and lit the menacing look of buzzing work, but as the laughter faded, there was nothing.

Wilson stood in his little attic, looking at spinning gears and blinking lights, only to awkwardly move his weight to the other leg. He came closer to his creation, waiting for something, anything to happen and with rising feeling of dread and a sobbing, pathetic voice in the back of his head screaming 'I knew it! I knew nothing would work! It never does!'

He was too tired back then, his exhaustion keeping up with painful throb of defeat, to inspect it further. He just backed slowly, into his chair, and fell into it, silent tears unnoticed as he drifted to sleep.

The radio was silent.

And now he felt similar- he failed to escape, to fight back, to somehow avoid the mob of people led by fear. Laying in snow, waiting to pass out. Fresh snowflakes covering his mussed hair that, ironically, was already pulling itself back into shape, and frost biting at his face and fingers.

"Say pal, you look terrible."

The same voice that accompanied him these last months during his work, burst from the radio along with static. Wilson would have jumped, but due to his circumstances a sudden twitch of his chest will have to suffice.

"You're not leaving yet, are you, Wilson?"

He forced a groan. He felt a biting need to apologize, but no words formed in his mouth. The blow to the head was probably a bit harder than he felt when it happened, dulled by adrenaline.

"Don't worry, pal. The machine has worked. It just took a while."

The voice was still talking- what those words were supposed to mean? What took a while? A wooden contraption isn't a bottle of medicine, it doesn't take time to-

"But I must say, this is an unfortunate situation. Frankly, I do feel partially responsible."

Wilson's world was tipping over. How? He's pretty sure he hasn't moved from his side.

"So, let's say, I'll give you a better end of the deal. We'll see how that'll turn out."

Wilson's head was filled with cotton. Radio's speaking has long since lost his attention, and the feeling of being encompassed in a grip was a fleeting moment of consciousness before all went black.

\---------------------------

Wilson woke up in an abyss. Floating gently, soft whispers rising from nowhere. The place was illuminated only by a piece of wood with a glowing blue gem attached to it. Wilson didn't feel much- mostly the blissful absence of pain, which he greatly appreciated.

He glanced at his hands, covered in white gloves, arms clothed in blue fabric, his whole attire coming together like some absurd fairy from children's book. Ridiculous shoes, torn blue pants, vest with embroidered simple snowflake design and seemingly a cape of some sort, attached at the front and kept together by a sturdy metal pin.

His face felt cold to the touch, even through his gloves. In fact, the whole place seemed cold- but instead of shivering and missing the warmth, he felt refreshed and blissful, sharp cold so different from warm feeling of pain, of blood pooling around his stomach-

Wilson startled and frantically started patting around, checking for injuries. He was okay. Not a single scratch to be seen, the broken bones as if they were never cracked. He felt around where he remembered the especially eager farmer hit him repeatedly in the ribs. No pain there either- he was completely healed. He certainly wasn't going to complain about it, despite slight fear at the impossible.

Other than that, not much else was going on. The only thing left without his attention was the stick with a gem, heh, sticked onto it. The most obvious choice was to grab it. It glowed brighter, beckoning him to come closer. So, after some awkward twitching and fumbling his limbs around, he figured out how to float in enough-straight path and reached for the staff. Immediately after he grabbed it, he felt it cooling him even more- but his skin didn't even break out in goosebumps.

He inspected the gem closely- it was deep blue, slightly see-through, and irregularly cut. It was clean though- no piece looked like it was unintentional. He swung it to feel it's weight, and to his delight a trail of snowflakes appeared in it's path, marking a line it flew through. The weightlessness of the place kept flakes floating around him.

'Well, that means there's dust in here.' The realization was somewhere in the back of his head, as he looked closely at tiny shapes of icy little masterpieces right before his eyes. Too mesmerized, he hasn't noticed a swirling black and white shape behind him, slowly getting bigger, before wind blew the snowflakes in his face and, before he even turned completely, threw him through the portal.

\-----------------

And he certainly wasn't prepared for that, as he screamed while falling through sky towards rapidly approaching green grass. With deadly grip on the staff he flung himself this way and that, trying desperately to... Be in position that would somehow save him from falling few hundred feet from the sky?

He grabbed onto the staff with both hands, pulling it to his chest as if it would somehow work as a rail to stop his fall. Constantly shifting his position, in complete panic he swung the staff out and up from his chest. A burst of wind that pushed him forward, slowing his descend for a short while was another shock but left a quick conclusion on what to do.

It took a mighty while, but finally, after almost losing the magical stick and his cape falling in his face a dozen times, he managed to steer himself with the wind and as carefully as he could, lowered himself to the ground.

And he couldn't do it very well. As soon he reached with his foot to touch the soil, he stumbled and with few ungraceful flips found himself face down in dirt. He laid there, gasping for breath and reveling in stability that ground provided.

As his hammering heart slowly stopped thumping in his ears, he heard a slow clapping behind him. He tensed immediately, slowly getting up on his hands and knees and shakily looking back-

To see a freakishly tall man in a striped suit, a cigar between his teeth and large lips in an amused but somehow patronizing smile. The mans slow clap came to a stop and he pulled the unlit cigar out of his mouth.

"I'd say, pal, that you did pretty well! Well enough for me to have a pretty show, at least."

"Who-" Wilson coughed sharply, his eyes watering, "-are you? Where am I?"

"You insult me, dear Wilson. I thought we spent enough time together for you to recognize me- or my voice at least."

Wilson surely couldn't remember such dapper fellow- no one in the little town he bought his groceries in could afford such clothes. And he certainly would have remembered a face like this one- long nose and chin, big lips and black eyes.

Still dizzy, he tried to recall anyone with voice that sounded... Low, kind of used, and smug, so damn smug all the time-

"A-are you-? From the radio?"

"Bingo, pal. But, I think that's enough of our small talk. I suggest you find something to eat before the night comes."

With that and a small puff of smoke at his feet, fellow disappeared, leaving a very confused Wilson pushing himself up to a full stand. All this time, he hasn't lost his grip on the staff- it seemed that letting it go would be an extremely bad idea. In light of what just happened, he had no reason to think otherwise.

After he got steady on his feet, he finally got a chance to look around. He was in an empty green field, with little patches of trees around. Some ponds surrounded by unnaturally big frogs, few beehives laying on ground but still functioning, assuming by the loud buzz and bees entering and leaving it every few minutes.

Wilson didn't know why, but he felt hot. The sun was almost scorching- like on a hot summer day, but when he looked at leafy birches, he noticed the leaves were brown, as in a month into autumn.

Well, it certainly was an inconvenience, but he would manage. Especially that his staff (yes, it was his. No way he will leave it anytime soon) still managed to give off that cold aura, and holding it sent breeze flowing around him.

Now, the situation seemed fine for the moment, but Wilson decided to follow the advice he got from the man he hoped to see for the last few months and start on looking for food.

As he went towards one of the ponds near which grew some bushes with berries, he started wondering about his situation. Which was obviously extremely strange, no matter anyone's standards.

Like where was he? Was this some odd version of afterlife? What's up with this funny get-up he was wearing? And the staff? And- basically everything. Like how he couldn't remember for the love of him how to cut flat boards from wood. And he remembers doing that before, in the normal world, when he had to make himself a table because the carpenter in town refused to work for some-

Not important. He had a clue he'll figure it out if he slams enough logs and stones together. For now, he'll have to find a way to work at everything with one hand only, because putting his staff away made him paranoid of losing it. He started feeling around his pants for pockets of some sort, or maybe he'll get a rope and tie the staff to his back- or the belt from these ridiculous blue pants will do. He stretched the belt enough to push the wooden stick between it and his hip. Gem still emanated the cold, now pleasantly chilling his side. He crouched next to a berry bush and started picking.

It was a quick work and soon he was moving to the next bush. But when he was crossing by the pond, a quick glance into the water had stopped him dead in his tracks. If there was one thing Wilson could recognize about himself, it would be his raven-black hair, always sticking in it's natural style. But now it was _blue_. Blue with frost all through it, some strands separating from his shapely mane, making it way more messy than it would have ever let itself. He reached to it hesitantly, and after few seconds touched one of protruding strands- yep, a real frost. He scratched some off- it didn't melt on his hand. It did however, melt on the ground when he shook it off. Just how cold was he?

He slowly reached with his hand towards the pond, his finger brushed against the surface. Nothing. He dipped his fingers into the pond-

"Ow, dammit!"

Water was hot. Way too hot. Not boiling, that much Wilson could see, but... It left him with a rather dreading thought. He wasn't human anymore. This stupid winter elf get-up... He gets it, he's short, but why elf?! Why winter elf? He has literally nothing in common with winter, the only thing that springs to his mind at the thought of cold snow is laying under a tree splattered with blood, breathing shakily on his side-

Okay, maybe dying in the middle of winter is a note worthy memory. Still, what exactly was he? His ears were fine. And he's pretty sure he's the same height as before, and it doesn't qualify as elf-size, _thank you very much_. He doesn't know of any winter themed mythical creatures- Santa Claus doesn't count, does he? Well, even if, he probably would get a toy factory to go with his new identity. Instead, he got a stick.

The stick, he thought. It showed so much promise- emanating cold, earlier creating snowflakes- or more like chilling the air enough for the vapor to crystallize on dust particles- he took it out of his belt again. He didn't hesitate so much this time, just smacked lightly the water with the gem. And to his delight, the surface quickly froze- he didn't even notice himself smiling.

Too busy pressing his hand on the ice, he didn't notice a big, big frog creeping up from the left. Said frog silently opened it's mouth and the next thing Wilson knew was a gigantic slimy tongue hitting him in the side, snatching his freshly collected berries. Completely startled, Wilson fell over to the right, just in time to duck from another tongue-attack. What the hell? What business does a giant frog have with him? And why does this hurt so much?!

It was just plain stupid. The scientist has pretty much had it. This entire day has been a disaster and some stupid frog was just too much for his nerves. Without thinking, he raised the staff high above his head and swung it at the frog- not to hit it, but for the staff to glow brightly and with a burst of blue light freeze the frog in a small chunk of ice. Too tired to be shocked yet again, Wilson snatched his berries and got on his feet, away from the pond. Better prepare some sort of fire for the night.

\-------------

Turns out the idea was not really satisfactory. The fire was obviously hot, but wandering off to the darkness got him a terrifying screech- a pretty clear sign of danger -so he scrambled back towards the unbearable warmth quicker than his mother to a jewelry shop.

He sat as far away from the fire as he dared, still uncomfortable with the heat. The whole issue was worrying- how will he warm up his food? Even if he was to eat cold stuff, it needed to be cooked first.

Slowly, he crawled over to the burning logs. He better be getting used to the heat. Even if it was unpleasant, he still wasn't burned- either by water or the fire itself. So maybe he just needs to deal with it.

\------------------

Whatever this place was, it wasn't friendly. And that was a damn fact- Wilson dodged another hit from the long-legged monstrosity of a bird. It’s legs were at least two and half meters long and the single eye that filled the front of it’s skull was bloodshot red. How this thing didn't get an eye infection as soon as it hatched was a mystery. He raised the staff and swung it at the beaked thing again, but just as before, the chill of the magical gem was not enough. The bird just screamed and positioned it's legs for another charge. Dammit!

Wilson took off running. With legs as long as these anything would be quick. He heard the beast catching up to him steadily and he heard the yowl just a second too late. The black ball of feathers smashed it's beak into his head.

Wilson yelled a curse and ran again. The bird was preparing to charge but he just blindly ran ahead, away from the damned thing, his head pulsing painfully and blood dripping through his hair.

The tallbird must have given up it's chase at some point because Wilson found himself collapsed against a tree couple minutes later. His head was still in so much pain- the blood clotting and closing the cut from the purple beak. He panted from the long run, wondering why the staff hasn't worked. He blasted the thing two times- the frog took only one to be frozen after all, why was it so weak against a bird? What are the variables? Size? Wetness? Weirdness?

Wilson of course was quick to notice the strange island was inhabited by some downright weird animals. The cow herd he found was not resembling any animal he ever saw- the horns chunky and blunt, the fur long and swishing in the wind. But the name of that cursed thing came to mind immediately and he couldn't contain himself and yelled 'It's a beefalo!' out loud. 

The spiders, because he refused to call these fanged monsters anything else, were unnaturally big and... Didn't look like spiders at all. Literally balls of fur with giant white eyes and only 6 legs. Their mouths were taking up the larger part of their body and it was just physically impossible for the thing to be alive.

And of course it was aggressive as hell.

And of course hitting one made all of the others around throw themselves at him with a hiss.

God, he hated spiders.

After the pain in his head became bearable, he stood up and started wandering in search of some berry bushes. Hunting was out of the question. Clearly, things worked differently here, because he was almost sure the long legged nightmare would be easy to topple over and kill with a strong hit of a rock.

‘That clearly wasn’t the case,’ he thought and scratched the blood off the side of his face.

\----------

The hound attack was too much of a surprise.

Desperately, he tried to reach for his staff, knocked out of his hand by the same hound now tearing apart his other hand, the stupid stick so close, if he just reaches it-

The second hound threw itself at his neck and all went black.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote it pretty much only bc I was staring at these for too long:
> 
> https://vinnybox-artblog.tumblr.com/tagged/Winterson (u should check the whole blog btw it's amazing)
> 
> Even though it's not the same Wilson as the one on the art, it got me inspired enough to actually write something longer than 400 words. 
> 
> This thing will probably get edited few times bc I have no idea what I'm doing. If you have any advice or critique please tell me


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